


The Fair of Artful Pleasure (F.A.P.)

by GingerTodgers, synonym4life



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Also Lube Maker Draco Malfoy), Ancient DIldos, Banter, Brief Discussion of Kinks, Dildos, Friends With Benefits, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Lube, Lube Taster Draco Malfoy, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Magical Erotic Trade Fair, Magical Theory, Minor Cormac McLaggen/Ron Weasley, Mugs, Post-Hogwarts, Rude Mugs, Sex Toys, accidental feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-14 00:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerTodgers/pseuds/GingerTodgers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonym4life/pseuds/synonym4life
Summary: F.A.P or the Fair of Artful Pleasure is going as splendidly as Harry could have imagined. Which is not splendidly at all. Which is, in fact, the complete opposite of splendid. Two steps in and he's already traumatised for life. And yet, it still manages to go downhill from there: Malfoy is at the fair and he's making Harry lick lube from dildos in front of an audience. As if that wasn't terrible enough, Harry hasfeelings.





	The Fair of Artful Pleasure (F.A.P.)

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[226](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit).
> 
> Thank you to the marvelous T and to the mods for running such a fun fest ♥

Harry had always thought that none of the however many days in his life he had still to experience would have the same horror potential as the days spent fighting the Dark Lord. And yet, it looked like The Worst Day of His Life Award was about to get a new winner. Worst of all: his friends were to blame for his misery. Ron Weasley (formerly known as his best friend, having been declassed to a mere friend right when they stepped through the entrance of the hall) and Cormac McLaggen (ex-best friend’s excitable boyfriend) were proving to be Voldemort’s strongest competition in bringing misery into Harry’s life. At least Voldemort had the decency to only fill his life with terror and pain, instead of with bone-crushing embarrassment that looked to be more Cormac’s forte.

Harry had been pressured into attending this...this - he hesitated calling it an event - he even hesitated calling it a fair, even though the word was in the official title. Fair of Artful Pleasure, or F.A.P., as the sign above the entrance hall declared proudly. The sign, the acronym notwithstanding, wouldn’t have been quite as traumatising if Harry hadn’t noticed there were penises and vaginas painted inside the letters. _Jumping_ penises and _rolling_ vaginas. His face had flushed so hard he almost put Ron to shame, while Cormac loudly and excitedly proclaimed, “Ha! A cock and fanny fair!”

It looked like Ron, a zealous proponent of the fair mere hours ago, was starting to realize that he’d signed up for his biggest nightmare. After all, there was nothing Cormac did better than public embarrassment; Cormac McLaggen _plus_ sex toys promised plenty of it.

When they passed from the entrance hall into a hall full of stands, Harry’s first thought was, “Maybe this won’t be so bad.” The stands by the door all looked rather innocent. Some displayed handcuffs, some had erotic massage oils made from magical herbs, some sold sexy lingerie ( _Witch or Wizard, our lace and frills improve your seduction skills!_ ). Harry could deal with that. Handcuffs and frills.

“Prefer the live ones, myself.” The gentle voice caused Harry to leap about 10 feet in the air and 10 feet _away_ from the bra he had been inspecting. A mermaid was standing – no, floating – beside him in what looked like a giant martini glass on wheels and wearing a… wearing a…

“Are those real?” Harry was horrified to hear himself ask, unable to tear his gaze away from the mermaid’s chest. “I mean the-the-the things.” A helpless glance at Ron confirmed that Harry wasn’t the only one thinking of breaking up their life long friendship.

“My stars?” The mermaid asked, smiling down at the live starfish plastered to her chest. As Harry watched, one lifted a fin and gave him a cheery wave. “Yes, they’re real. If you fancy some yourself there’s a stall-” she pointed out a table covered with scummy green tanks. The woman guarding the tanks was wearing a green scarf to match the algae and, as Harry watched, she sneezed violently.

“Er, maybe another time,” said Harry, making a mental note not to venture over to that side of the hall.

“Of course.” The mermaid smiled some more. “Sorry, let me just do this properly.” She raised her voice and sang;

 _“Welcome to the Fair of Artful Pleasure_ __  
_Where you will find much to titillate and treasure_ __  
_But before you venture further in_ __  
_Remember touching without consent is a sin_ __  
_That new kinks are not a cause for panic_ __  
_And to always keep your lube organic_ __  
_Now run along and have some fun_ _  
_ _Who knows, you might meet a special someone_

Cormac’s enthusiastic applause prompted Harry and Ron out of the stupor they had fallen into. Nodding graciously, the mermaid gave each of them a large green giftbag (“where was she hiding them?” Ron frantically whispered) and began happily answering Cormac’s questions about her handcuff preferences. Ron looked like he was slowly being boiled alive, the red colour in his cheeks deepening with every passing minute. Cormac, naturally, ended up buying three different pairs of handcuffs _and_ getting the mermaid’s Floo address before continuing his conquest of every stand.

Ron and Harry reluctantly trudged after him, examining the leaflets and novelty anal beads in their welcome bags. Ron’s beads were bright orange, Harry’s were carved to look like tiny golden snitches (Harry was relieved to note that the snitch wings were etched on, rather than sticking straight out). When they passed the tenth stand (by which point Harry’s guard had almost completely slipped) a giant - monstrous, really - dildo came pelting onto their path. Harry let out an undignified yelp, Ron flinched, first from fear and then, when he realized what the thing was, from sympathy for the genitals of its future user. Cormac guffawed.

“Ah, sorry.” The owner of the stand called out and dashed from behind the table to grab the dildo, which was wiggling on the floor. “This one’s a bit excitable today.”

Harry only hoped it wasn’t quite as excitable in bed.

He then looked at the collection on the stand and all hope of maintaining a detached façade evaporated into thin air. Harry could handle dildos. In fact, Harry didn’t mind dildos in private at all. But if he had thought the jumping monstrosity had been the stand’s most exotic display, he was very, very wrong. The banner above the table said it all. _Everything’s a dildo, if you’re Gryff enough._ He blinked at the “dildos” on the shelves and gulped. His arse clenched involuntarily.

Even Cormac, who had been chattering without a pause ever since they entered, gaped in silence. Then he took a tentative step forward. Foreboding raced through Harry as he realised that Cormac’s expression reminded him of how he, Harry, had felt when he first walked into The Great Hall at Hogwarts.

“I’m just going to be over, er, somewhere else,” he said, backing away from Ron, Cormac, and the 12-foot popping-candy-encrusted dildo they were inspecting. Distracted, he bumped into someone, hard.

“Ahh!” A young woman with bright red lipstick and sunglasses of the same shade regained her balance and looked at him accusingly. Well, he assumed she did, he couldn’t really see her eyes. “I could av dropped ze croizzantz!” Her voice was definitely accusing. She was holding a big silver plate of croissants in one of her hands. She was also clearly not French. Or Bulgarian. Or whatever that accent was supposed to be.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you.” Harry helped her balance the tray.

“Hmm, you in distress love?” The faux frenchie switched to a Bristol accent. It was distracting and Harry almost forgot that he _was_ a bit distressed.

“Er. I think my mate is going to let his boyfriend put that up his arse.” He nodded to Cormac, Ron, and the towering, sugary dildo.

“Gryffindors.” The woman shook her head, absentmindedly handing Harry a croissant and taking one for herself. “Here. If you get vanilla you’ll find love, if you get chocolate you’ll die alone.” Harry had already taken a bite and was frozen mid-chew - not another bloody prophecy - when he realised that his mouth was full of caramel.

“What are these?” He asked. “Some sort of prophetic pastries?”

“Nah, I just made that up.” She gave him a big smile, her white teeth flashing.

“Ohmgee! Croissants!” Cormac appeared at Harry’s elbow. “Can I have one?”

“Sure.” The woman offered the plate to him. “Come visit me at my stand later. I’m here to promote my bakery.”

“Is it a sexy bakery?” Cormac’s eyebrows waggled in time with his bulging, munching cheeks.

“No.” She spoke slowly, as if she was already sick of being asked this question.

“Nofgeveshabish?”

“Not even a bit?” Harry translated for Cormac.

“Well.” The woman gave them an assessing look. “I do have a cake tin that can transform to match the user’s genitals.”

“Wicked!” Cormac breathed as Harry recoiled. “Show me?” The two of them disappeared into the crowd, leaving Harry with a half-chewed croissant and a terrible foreboding about what Ron’s birthday celebrations would entail.

 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

The next stall was an oasis of calm, despite being plonked right next to the dildo menagerie. Neatly ordered pamphlets were artfully arranged beneath a small printed sign that read _Magical Erotic Accessories, Trinkets and Usables Society (M.E.A.T.U.S.)_. The stall owner was a short twinkly woman who gave Harry a friendly smile and smoothed her Everyone Loves A Hufflepoke t-shirt as he walked over.

“Er, hello,” said Harry, watching in amusement as the woman snatched up a tennis racket and swatted a rogue dildo away from the pamphlets.

“They get everywhere, don’t they?” She laughed. “Although I guess that’s kind of the idea.”

“Yeah, suppose so.” Harry laughed along with her. This was nice, he thought to himself, maybe he could just stay here for the rest of the fair. She looked like the kind of woman who might have a flask of tea tucked away somewhere and-

“Are you interested in M.E.A.T.U.S.?”

“Er, not sure. What, er, what is it?”

“Oh!” She smiled even more. “Well _a_ meatus is the hole people with penises wee through and _my_ M.E.A.T.U.S. is an organisation designed to raise awareness of the many overlooked aspects of human and creature sexuality!” She ran out of breath slightly at the end and paused to take a sip of tea (“called it!” crowed the part of Harry’s brain not spiralling into a panic. This woman was very nice but he really did not want to talk about the erotic potential of his own meatus). “I run workshops and I’ve written a sex manual.” The woman carried on, picking up a leaflet. “Would you like a sample chapter?”

“Um, yeah. Cheers.” Harry accepted the chapter. It was printed on nice, expensive feeling paper and was titled: _Shower Sex: Not Worth It!_  “I’ve never had shower sex,” he said.

“Well take it from someone who knows,” she dropped her voice. “It’s not worth it.”

“What’s not worth it?” Cormac’s head poked over Harry’s shoulder. “Shower sex, eh? Personal fave but not sure it’s quite right for you, Haz.” He gave Harry a conciliatory bicep squeeze.

Turning to Cormac, Harry narrowed his eyes. “Why is it not for me, specifically?”

“Haz.” Cormac clapped him on the back, giving him the kind of patronising look a teacher gave to a child. “You’re just too vanilla.”

Trust Cormac to offend him over his sexual practices. Harry wasn’t vanilla, was he? He was in half a mind to head back to the Everything's a Dildo stand and buy that 12-foot monster cock out of pure spite. Maybe he could make a lamp out of it?

Instead, he huffed and marched towards the next set of stands.

 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

Harry had never thought of himself as a particularly sensitive person. He’d survived eight years of the Gryffindor common room, seven years of Neville’s feet, and months in a tent with Hermione’s snoring. If ever there was a man trained to block out external stimuli it was Harry James Potter. But the mugs were A Lot. There were red mugs, yellow mugs, blue mugs, purple mugs, green, black, white, brown, orange, grey, puce, puke, poppy, pumpkin, spotted, striped, glitter and sequin mugs of every shape and size. All this, and on the front of every mug was a hunky witch or wizard, waving at Harry and occasionally rubbing their nipples.

“Pretty cool, right?” One of the stall owners was looking at Harry expectantly. She had charmed her hair to match the mugs and it flicked to a new colour every time she smiled. She seemed to do that a lot.

“Er, yep. Yes.” Harry nodded, trying to tear his eyes away from her hair. It was currently white and reminded him a bit of… “How do they, er, work? Also… what are they?”

“They’re called Sexual Aura Sensing Stoneware,” she said, smiling again and causing her hair to turn Gryffindor red. “They sense whether the drinker is thirsty-” she gave him a long, slow wink, “-and then the picture on the front reflects that, look!” Snatching up a mug, she took a deep swallow. The wizard on the mug loosened his top button, giving Harry a rather smouldering glance but was apparently disinclined to remove more clothes. “Hmm, looks like I’m not in the mood right now,” she shrugged. “Let’s see if we can find one for you!”

“Oh, no it’s alright.” Harry hastened to reassure her. “I’m just going to-”

“Have you had your two gallons today?” The other woman behind the stall had turned her attention to Harry. She was quite tall with big eyes that pinned Harry in place.

“My what?”

“Magical creatures must drink at least 1.5 gallons of water to stay hydrated,” said the woman. Without looking away from Harry, she clicked her fingers and a long ribbon of water began pouring into one of the mugs. “If you intend to have sex then you will need another half gallon to avoid symptoms like halitosis, dry mouth, empty testicles, flat feet, premature ageing, and eventual death.”

Another snap of her fingers, and the mug floated over to Harry. The picture on the front was of a tall, thin, blonde wizard who was—much to Harry’s consternation—already topless and leering.

“I’m alright thanks, I’ve had my water.” He held up both hands, relaxing when the woman immediately stopped the advancing mug.

“Good.” She beamed. “99 percent of magical beings underestimate the importance of hydration to a fulfilling sex life, it’s a pleasure to meet a fellow 1 percenter. That’s a pun, I’m Muggle-born.”

“Excuse me,” the mug witch spoke up. “Are you interested in buying a mug? Because this man has been waiting a long time.” Harry tore his eyes away from the picture of the blond wizard. The next customer was Cormac, clutching nine mugs, all of which seemed to have a picture of…

“Is that me?” Harry asked, tipping his head to the side.

“That’s Barry Trotter!” Cormac guffawed, flexing to keep all the mugs in place. “I see your ego is getting a workout, even if your quads aren’t.” He gave Harry a meaningful look—he’d been doing that a lot recently.

“He looks exactly like me.” Harry tried to argue.

“Can’t really see it myself mate.” Ron piped up. “Chap on the mug you’re holding though, he looks a bit like Malfoy, don’t you think?”

“Wha-” Harry looked down to realise that he was now _holding_ the mug that until a few moments ago had been floating in midair. The water witch was smirking at him from behind her own water-filled mug. By contrast, the man on the mug was all too visible and stroking a noticeable erection. Noticeable because he wasn’t wearing any pants and- “This is not mine.” Harry shoved the mug into Ron’s hand, trying not to feel gratified when the picture on the mug did a disgusted doubletake and started pulling its clothes back on.

“He does look like Malfoy, though.” Ron insisted. “Bet he would have hated knowing his mug portrait likes getting naked for the Chosen One.”

“Put that down,” Harry hissed. He was already regretting giving the mug to Ron. Still, better than Cormac. “That is not Malfoy, it just looks like him. And secondly-” Harry snapped his mouth closed, realising he’d been about to point out that Malfoy probably wouldn’t mind getting naked for him, seeing how eager he’d been to take his clothes off at Harry’s- No. Delete. Erase. Annul. No thinking about that.

Annoyed, Harry dragged Ron and Cormac onwards while the water witch shouted “Hydrate or die, loves!” after them in a rather threatening voice. The next stand was, again, full of dildos. Why were there so many bloody (not literally) dildos everywhere? Harry was sure Hermione would have a lot to say about the phallic nature of the fair. This particular collection looked rather unusual. Harry frowned. The fake penises looked like they were made from wood and stone. And, was that one ivory?

He glanced at the sign above the stand. _Heirloom dildos,_ it said in looping gold letters. Ron’s confused stare followed Harry’s and his expression morphed into that of appalled disgust. His shocked eyes fell on the girl behind the counter.

“Wha-” he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re actually selling _used_ dildos?” Harry felt queasy at the thought.  

“Wow! Really? Wicked!” Cormac exclaimed while examining a small ivory penis. Ron snatched it away from him.

The girl, who couldn’t be more than twenty, inspected her bitten nails. The nail polish on them was mostly chipped off .“Yup,” she replied to Ron. She sounded like she had had to answer this question fifty times that day already.

“Who the fuck buys a used dildo?” Harry was pretty sure his expression matched Ron’s. He could feel his mouth turning into a grimace. “That’s disgusting.”

“Kink and let kink. It’s not that deep.” The girl shrugged. She had obviously become completely desensitized to the abnormality of her profession.

“Are you telling me,” Ron’s voice was faint, “that there are people in this world who buy a dead person’s dildo and shove it up their arse?”

“Or vagina,” The girl reminded him before continuing. “And, yes, believe it or not, a lot of the time, they do so with great enthusiasm.” For the first time the girl’s face broke into an amused smile. She seemed to be enjoying the abject horror on Harry and Ron’s faces.

“Some of these look ancient!” Harry didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or cry. “Merlin knows how many people went through them!”

At this, the girl smirked and pointed at an exceptionally battered stone phallus. “One thousand three hundred and twenty-two B.C. Tutankhamun.” Her smirk grew wider. “Went through the whole dynasty.”

Harry didn’t know whether the bitterness in his mouth was a visceral physical representation of his disgust or had he really puked into his mouth?

“Sold!” Cormac banged his palm on the counter, making some of the taller dildos sway dangerously.

“Are you bloody mental?” Ron rounded on his boyfriend. “If that came anywhere near your your arse, you would be as dead to me as the mummy that first used it.” At that he promptly pushed Cormac away from the stand.

“Thanks,” Harry told the girl awkwardly and set out after his friends. She waved after them, laughing.

“Bit of a nutter.” Ron decided. “Funny though, think her and Ginny would get on?”

“Thought we agreed you were going to stop matchmaking, mate.” Harry paused to examine a ‘How To Become A Daddy Kit’, recoiling when he realised it had nothing to do with conception. Merlin, people really did have to ruin everything these days, didn’t they?

“Did we agree on that?” Ron asked. “Seem to remember agreeing that you’re a helpless case-”

“Says the man dating someone who owns three pairs of compression leg warmers and a Shake Wank.”

“Right, first, it’s a Shake Weight.” Ron held up a finger. “Second, much as it pains me to admit it, those leg warmers do good things for his thighs and you know it.” Harry was forced to nod. Cormac McLeggen was a sight to behold. “And third, we were talking about how you’re beyond even my matchmakerly prowess.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“You haven’t had a date that I didn’t organise in at least a year.”

“Well maybe if you didn’t set me up with arseholes-” Harry cut himself off as he realised that Ron actually knew his type rather well, and that he was starting to miss one arsehole in particular.

“Did I hear someone mention bottoms?” The woman who had spoken was wearing black and yellow striped dungarees and a sign around her neck that said ‘Arse Readings: Your Fate Lies Between Your Cheeks.’ Harry felt his life flash before his eyes as he read and reread the words.

“You… you read arses?” He asked, involuntary clenching.

“Yes!” The arse reader beamed at him. Why was everyone at this fair so bloody happy? Was this what regular sex did to people? Got them so hyped up that they just went around smiling and offering to look at people’s arseholes?

“It’s actually an ancient Anglo practice.” The arse reader was explaining to Ron. “The Anglos believed that a man’s fortune could be foretold through detailed examination of his anus. Of course, now we know that a lot of that was sublimated homoerotic desires and confusion over the translation of some awkwardly rendered runes.”

“Like a horoscope?” Ron asked, apparently agog.

“A little bit.”

“Wicked.” Ron’s head jerked up, scanning the crowd. “Do you mind waiting here for a bit? My boyfriend would love this-” it was the first time Harry had heard Ron admit out loud that Cormac was his boyfriend, “-back in a mo.” Ron gave the arse reader an excited thumbs-up and jogged off into the crowd.

“Er…” Harry found himself alone with the Bumble-bum reader. “Do you actually look at the arses then or…

“Sometimes,” she nodded. “You’d be surprised how often people have photos of their own anus to hand. Fancy a cauldron cake?” She produced a gigantic cake from her rucksack. It was golden brown and dotted with glace cherries.

“That looks brilliant,” said Harry. “It’s not… er… it’s not sex themed, is it?”

“Oh no, not everything is about sex. Unless you’re a fan of feederism, I don’t judge!” She cut a large slice and offered it to him. Smiling in relief, he took the plate and they stood in companionable silence, munching cake.

When Ron returned with Cormac, it turned out that Cormac did, indeed, have a photo of his arse at hand. Thankfully, it was only a picture of his bum and not his anus, so the only thing the woman could divine was that he should target his gluteus medius in his training sessions because the muscle was underdeveloped.

 

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

They had reached the end of the hall when Harry’s eyes fell on a small stage and his entire self crumbled into dust. On the side of the stage closest to Harry, was a small table covered in little bottles and a near-regimental row of dildos. The other side had a larger, sturdier table, laden with small cauldrons, tubes, and pipettes. Blue, red, and yellow liquids dripped into small test tubes and orange and green smoke was curling in the air above the cauldrons. In short, it looked a lot like Harry’s potions class nightmare, except he wasn’t naked and there was no sign of Snape.

But neither the potions kit, nor the dildos had the power to make Harry stop in his tracks. No, it was Draco Malfoy, standing right behind the row of dildos, who had Harry rooted to the spot. Harry felt annoyance rise in his chest. He had been successfully _not_ thinking about Malfoy through all the phallic exhibitions of the fair and the prick had to ruin his accomplishment by actually _being_ there.

Harry didn’t know what he and Malfoy were exactly. He just knew that their previously uncomplicated (and often drunk) hook-ups had, somewhere during the rushed gropes, quick wanks, and quiet fucks, grown into something awkward and hesitant, full of lingering stares and not-even-slightly-casual touches.

But they haven’t hooked up in months. They haven’t hooked up since it got weird, and Harry spent every day trying to not fucking think of Malfoy’s stupid pointy face and his stupid splotchy chest, and his stupid hot palms and his stupid, stupid kisses.

And there he was, with that ridiculous pointy face and that ridiculous flush, waving those ridiculous hands and talking with that ridiculous, ridiculous mouth that Harry missed so much. The whole thing was a disaster. They had enough trouble containing themselves when they met in pubs and at ministry functions. Meeting in a hall full of sex toys was begging for catastrophe.

“Harry!” Ron and Cormac had advanced towards the seats, leaving Harry to stare at the stage in horror. Ron’s shout sent Malfoy’s eyes sweeping the crowd until they found Harry in the far corner. Malfoy’s arms stopped mid-wave, and his mouth parted slightly in surprise. Harry felt his throat go dry and his palms turn into a sweaty swamp. His body couldn’t even regulate fluid distribution around Malfoy anymore.

Malfoy composed himself quickly, all hesitance gone as a small cunning smile curled across his lips. “Perfect,” he almost purred, then turned to the crowd. “We have our volunteer! Potter,” he said, “care to join me on the stage?”

Volunteer? Harry’s head spun. Oh, no, not in this fucking millenium. He looked around wildly trying to find an escape, but his only option seemed to be a doorway decorated with pink plastic and foam to make it look like a vagina. Everyone who'd gone through the doorway so far had been crying when they came back out and it was too late, anyway. Cormac was advancing, his strong hand curling around Harry’s bicep, and, in no time, Harry was being dragged to the stage with the words, “Tits out and abs tight, Haz. Time to load that bar and just do it..”

“That’s not how any of those sayings work.” Harry hissed while, somewhere in the back of his mind, acknowledging that this was actually a solid piece of advice.

Malfoy was coming closer and closer as Cormac pushed Harry up the stairs and onto the stage with so much force that he almost faceplanted on the dildos. When he straightened up, Harry was pleased to note that Malfoy’s smile, too, had acquired a nervous curve.

“Potter,” said Malfoy, his voice much softer than when he had called Harry’s name earlier.

“Hi,” Harry replied, sounding a bit breathless to his own ears. Malfoy’s smile twitched before he turned back to the crowd. There weren’t many people watching, but most of them had stopped after they’d seen Harry climb on stage.

“So, now that we have The Boy Who Lived supporting our cause, we can play a little game.” Malfoy’s eyes flicked to Harry’s when Harry muttered “not supporting,” under his breath. Smirking, Malfoy continued speaking to the audience. “As you can see I have some phallic objets d’art- ” fucking trust Malfoy to not call a dildo a fucking dildo, “ -and a number of unlabelled bottles of artificial lubrication. As you know, I am a Potions Master specializing in flavour making, testing, and tasting, and these are all my concoctions.”

Harry frowned. Malfoy _had_ told him he was a Potions Master and Flavour Tester, but Harry had thought he worked for, like, one of those stuffy wine cellars at the posh end of Diagon Alley? Or something? How could he have known Malfoy was a sodding lube taster? True, Harry had never really asked, but who the fuck would have thought such a profession even existed? Why did everything about Malfoy have to be so bloody exotic and different and intense? From his choice of profession to the feelings he incited in Harry, Malfoy had to stand out at everything.

“Potter’s task here will be to try and guess-”

“Since-fucking-when are you a lube taster?” Harry’s voice came out a bit panicked, but he felt he had every right to be. After all, he’d just found out why the lube he sucked off Malfoy’s cock on multiple occasions was so fucking delicious.

Malfoy stopped talking to the audience and turned to Harry. “Since I’ve been employed by SlickEasy’s Lube.”

“Slick-” Harry spluttered. “SlickEasy’s?” This was abominable, unjust, and straight up sacrilegious. “That, is a - a blatant _rip off_ of my grandfather’s Sleekeazy’s line of hair potions!” He hissed, glad that he remembered to keep his voice down so that the audience couldn’t hear his outrage.

“Actually,” Malfoy smirked. “The SlickEasy’s Lube brand, too, was launched by your grandfather about sixty years ago. But then he sold the name, of course.”

Harry gaped. Why had no one told him? How had he not known his grandfather was a fucking lube maker?

“But why the fuck did you become a fucking lube taster?” Harry thought that he might be swearing a bit too much, but who the fuck cared, this was the weirdest fucking day of his life, Blast-Ended Skrewts lesson included.

Malfoy merely shrugged and lowered his voice. “Talented taste buds and a penchant for sucking cock.” He winked.

Harry, remembering exactly how much his own cock appreciated that penchant, gulped soundlessly. Malfoy held Harry’s eyes for a few seconds more, just enough to deepen the flush that had started to rise in Harry’s cheeks. He then cleared his throat and turned back to the crowd.

“As I said, Potter’s task will be to taste the lube I’ll present him and try and guess the flavour. Some flavours are very simple, some are more complicated, but all are, if I may brag a bit, delicious.” Malfoy flashed the crowd a big smile. Harry didn’t like this smile. It was a fake sort of smile Malfoy gave to people he wanted to impress. The smile of his that was truly charming was the one that stretched his face when Harry said something unexpectedly funny and Malfoy tried his hardest not to show it but his mouth still quirked up and his eyes softened.

While Harry pondered the qualities of Malfoy’s smiles, the man had stepped up to the table, taken a bottle of lube in his hands, and let the liquid dribble over the head of a fake cock. As if slapped, Harry jerked out of his thoughts. Oh, no _fucking_ way.

“Wait,” he told Malfoy and stepped up to him darting a harried glance at the crowd. Merlin. There were even more people in the audience than before. Harry grit his teeth and hissed. “If you think I’m licking this thing off a fucking dildo, you’re out of your mind.”

Malfoy turned to look at him. When their eyes met Harry realized how close they were. “But those are the rules of the game, Potter.” Malfoy faked innocence, while the mirth in his eyes betrayed his diabolical intentions.

“No,” Harry protested.

“Yes,” Malfoy insisted.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Harry glared. Malfoy gloated.

“Booooo!” came a cry from the crowd. Fucking _Cormac_. In that moment, Harry wished he had, indeed, faceplanted on the dildos earlier and poked out an eye. At least that would have got him out of this mess. “Come on, Haz! Sucking cock isn’t that hard!”

“I know how to fucking suck cock, Cormac!” Harry yelled back. Great. He had just handed the _Prophet_ a new headline. The Chosen One Brags about Fellatio Prowess.

“So…” Malfoy drawled, holding out the lube-slicked dildo.“Care to prove it?”

“Not really,” Harry grumbled.

“Scared, Potter?” Malfoy asked, his eyes locked on Harry’s. It felt as if Malfoy was asking for a lot more than Harry’s public embarrassment. As if he was dredging up their past to see whether it should stay buried forever or if future could be built on it.

“You wish,” Harry replied with just as much conviction as all those years ago. He ripped the dildo out of Draco’s hand and, without breaking eye contact, gave it a long, slow lick.

“Eugh” he gagged. “Strawberry jam.” Of course, Malfoy had to give him the flavour he hated the most. Some things simply didn’t change, and Malfoy being a prick was one of them. “You know I hate jam.”

“Not when I lick it off your chest,” Malfoy said, sounding a bit dazed. His eyes were fixed on Harry’s lips and there was a decisive flush spreading across his neck.

“You’ve never licked jam off my chest,” Harry reminded him, hoping that Malfoy hadn’t confused him with some other bloke he was fucking.

“Yet,” Malfoy muttered.

Harry scowled. There shall be no jam in the vicinity of his body ever. Not on the inside, not on the outside. “I’d rather have a fist in my body than jam on my tits.”

Malfoy’s eyes flew to his, inquiring. “Was that a suggest-”

“No, it wasn’t a bloody suggestion!” Harry glared, crossing his arms, not caring that the slicked dildo in his hand grazed against his clothes.

“Right.” Malfoy cleared his throat. “Right.”

He turned seeming to only now remember that they had an audience the entire time. Harry’s eyes swept the crowd. The mermaid was whispering to the water witch, the dildo witches were simply standing there with their eyebrows raised, there was no sign of the arse reader, but the mug witch was pointedly avoiding Harry’s gaze. Ron looked queasy, and Cormac, for once, didn’t seem to know what to say.

People didn’t hear what he and Malfoy were saying, did they? They had kept their conversation to whispers. There was no way the audience had heard. It was probably the act of seeing their Saviour lick a dildo that had the crowd stupefied and Ron queasy. Harry would feel queasy himself if he saw Ron licking lube in public. Or in private.  

“Right” Malfoy said for the third time in an effort to collect himself. “That was, indeed strawberry jam as Potter correctly guessed. Now, onto the next one.”

He picked up a bottle of blue lube and poured it onto another dilldo. “It wouldn’t do for the flavours to mix,” he explained. Harry guessed this one, too, (raspberry), but the next samples were getting harder and harder to determine. There was Butterbeer, which he had guessed; then pumpkin pasties flavoured lube, which Harry claimed tasted like pumpkin juice; Chocolate Frog, which Draco insisted was different from pure chocolate, but Harry insisted he was just being pretentious. Then came Firewhisky, which burned so bad that Harry’s eyes began to water - a sado-masochistic range, Draco explained. Interspersed between these flavours were the “niche” lubes, which Harry found was code for “disgusting” and “never want to suck this from a cock ever”. Among them was haggis, tomato sauce, charcoal, and protein powder. “I’ll take a tube,” Cormac yelled.

As Harry failed to identify the flavours or, alternatively, as he gagged over the terrible ones, Malfoy was getting more and more flustered. In fact, every time Harry licked a dildo, Malfoy’s movements became jerkier and his voice fainter. By the time Harry asked who on earth wanted to lick sunscreen flavoured lube from other people’s bodies, Malfoy’s recurrent _des goûts et des couleurs, on ne discute pas_ , had become rather breathy. When Malfoy reached for another flask - this one full of rainbow glitter - Harry stopped him.

“You missed that one,” he said pointedly, mainly because if he had to do this, he would be as mardy about it as possible.

Malfoy’s eyes didn't meet his when he replied. “Oh, that one isn’t very good.”

Harry stared at him, incredulous. “Half of these aren’t any good!”

“It hasn’t been perfected yet,” Malfoy said, shiftily.

“I want to try it.”

“No,” Malfoy protested.

“Yes,” Harry insisted.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Malfoy glared. Harry gloated.

Good to know they were still equally stubborn.

“Fine.” Malfoy shrugged. Hesitant, he poured the contents of the flask on another ‘phallic objet d’art’. His hand was trembling when he handed it to Harry. Why was Malfoy so concerned? As if Harry cared if the lube hadn’t been perfected yet.

As soon as his tongue touched the dildo, he knew why. Malfoy stood frozen in front of him, his eyes fixed on something behind Harry’s left shoulder.

“It’s-” Harry took a shaky breath, “it’s treacle tart.”

His mind flashed to a drunken night, a few weeks ago. He and Malfoy had attended the same Ministry Ball and, after bumping into each other on the balcony and complaining about the terrible food choices, they set out to drink as much as they possibly could in order to forget how hungry they were. Well past tipsy, Harry brushed against Malfoy whispering “my place” into his ear before heading to the fireplaces. It was the only night that they spent together without having sex. Instead, deciding they were still ravenous despite all the booze in their bodies, they set out to make a sloppy, crumbly, overly-sweet treacle tart.

It was the best night Harry had ever had.

“Why?” Harry asked, remembering how only a week later, when they bumped into each other at the Leaky and Malfoy hadn’t even glanced his way.

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, then promptly closed it. “Well, it’s a fairly basic taste, isn’t it,” he said, turning to the audience again, completely ignorant to the pang of disappointment in Harry’s stomach.

“Unbelievable!” Malfoy smiled his fake smile again. “Potter guesses something again. Who would have thought that after two encounters with death any of his taste buds survived!” The crowd laughed, but Malfoy continued without waiting for the laughter to die down. “That is it for today, thank you for your attention, and remember with SlickEasy’s everything slides easy.”

Before Malfoy even finished proclaiming the company slogan, Harry turned around and fled down the stairs to the side of the stage. He couldn’t deal with this. Not here, not now. He didn’t know what Malfoy wanted. When Harry tasted the treacle tart lube he had truly thought that there was something behind it, especially after Malfoy’s reluctance to show it to him. But he was probably being stupid. There were all those flavours available. Of course Malfoy was going to make a treacle tart one. He probably didn’t want to give it to Harry precisely because he knew Harry would assume it meant something more.

In his haste to get as far away from the stage as possible he almost missed Ron and Cormac making their way towards him through the crowd.

“So…” said Cormac. “Since when are you and Malfoy doing the bang-a-bang?”

Harry’s head twitched in his direction so hard that he almost got whiplash. “What? We’re not!”

“Harry,” Ron looked a bit peaky when he continued, “The stage was on _Sonorous_.”

“The stage. Was. On _Sonorous_!” Harry really, really, really wanted to punch something. He was considering Cormac because, if anyone, he deserved it most for being a twat, but Harry would probably break his fist on his abs or something equally pathetic. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“We hardly could have, could we? You two just went for it right at the start.” Ron reminded him.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. This was the last straw. From rocketing dildos to starfish bras and arsehole readings, from Ron getting slapped over the face by fake, yet horrifyingly realistic, testicles, and Cormac’s attempts to get Harry on board as a shareholder of every second expensive item he laid his eyes on (be it dildos, cock rings, or fucking diamond encrusted _thongs)_ to the stage on _Sonorous_ and to Draco not giving a damn about Harry’s crumbling heart. Harry wished to every god he’d ever heard of for the ground to open and deliver him into Voldemort’s scaly arms.

“Harry, mate,” Harry felt Ron’s comforting hand on his shoulder. “Are you ok?”

“Haz.” Another heavy hand dropped on his other shoulder. “There’s something in your eyes that tells me Malfoy is more than recreational cardio to you.”

Harry snorted. The one thing he liked about Cormac was that he made him laugh when he didn’t feel like laughing at all. “Who thinks of sex as recreational cardio?” Harry shook his head, finally looking up. 

“He does,” Ron shrugged. “Now that he’s trying to lean out we do it every morning, for 20 minutes, fasted. I’m getting pretty burnt out, to be honest.”

Harry laughed in earnest. Ron was crazy for putting up with a boyfriend like that, but Harry had never seen him happier and more at ease with who he was. He liked this new Ron, unburdened by expectations, free to simply be. He wondered if love and acceptance did that to people and felt burning jealousy in his throat.

“You didn’t answer, Haz.” Cormac reminded him, his grip on Harry’s shoulder for once gentle and his eyes warm. “Is Draz more than recreational cardio?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he is.” Harry nodded, heart skipping a beat at having admitted it out loud. It felt good to say it. Lubricating. No, liberating.

“Well then let’s go find Draz, and you can tell-”

“There is no need,” drawled a familiar voice. Harry spun around, making the two hands fly off his shoulder and almost getting a second bout of whiplash. “And if you ever call me that again, McLaggen, I’ll send you some lube with ground chilli inside.”

“Yikes.” Cormac made a face. “He’s snippy,” he told Harry, as if Harry didn’t already know.

Seeing the murderous look on Malfoy’s face, Harry almost snorted out loud again. If there was anyone Cormac would annoy more than Harry, it was Malfoy. Harry was willing to pay just to listen to them talk for fifteen minutes.

“I need to talk to Potter,” Malfoy said. “Alone,” he added after neither Ron nor Cormac gave any indication of removing themselves from his presence. Ron looked at Harry, and Harry nodded that it was okay. Cormac slapped Harry hard on his upper back.

“Go get him, tiger!” He slapped Harry on the arse for good measure and then started retreating backwards his eyes still on Malfoy. He made an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture with his fingers that he learnt from some film. A muscle in Malfoy’s jaw twitched. Whether from annoyance or from amusement, Harry couldn’t tell.

“Tiger.” Malfoy’s voice was tight, as if he himself wasn’t sure whether he found it funny or irritating. “Merlin, he’s even worse than I remember.” Then, as if finally deciding that Cormac was more comical than anything else, Malfoy laughed. It was a short, quiet laugh, but it still made Harry smile. “So.”

“Yeah,” Harry said helpfully, shoving his hands in the pockets of his torn jeans.

Malfoy took a deep breath, before barging on. “The treacle tart flavour...I-” His eyes shifted away from Harry’s face to a dildo shaped indent on the floor. “I made it because of you. For you. I meant to- Well, I meant to bring it to you. For weeks now. But I just...couldn’t. I was scared.”

The final admission was barely more than a whisper. It was loud between them, though, echoing their shared thoughts. _Scared of how much I liked you, scared of being rejected, scared of feeling, scared of caring._

“I thought after that night...” Harry trailed off. “I thought you’d want to…”

“I did.” Malfoy still wasn’t looking at him but the set of his shoulders was determined. “I do. I want to. Spend time with you. Not just for sex. I just…” Malfoy finally looked at Harry. He shrugged, a laugh escaping him. “When I woke up, hungover, with crumbs and golden syrup on my favourite shirt, and realized I didn’t even mind because I was with you, I knew I was fucked.”

Harry felt a smile stretch across his face as the knots in his stomach he hadn’t even realized had been there, for weeks probably, started to untangle. “I realized that night, too.” He stepped closer to Malfoy, not close enough to touch, but close enough for the bubble of intimacy to envelop them. “I was scared too, I still am. We’re a disaster. Much worse than Ron and Cormac.”

“Much worse,” Malfoy agreed.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to make at least two hundred and seventy-three bad treacle tarts with you.”

“Just two hundred and seventy-three?”

“Per year?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter, no one likes treacle tart that much.”

Harry laughed, and reached out to take Malfoy’s hand in his. It was a simple gesture, but somehow clutching the pale hand in his clammy palm, feeling Malfoy’s pulse under his fingers was enough. It was enough because now he had time to love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal]().


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